


Don't Pretend You'll Ever Forget 'Bout Me

by allyoop_1



Series: We're Throwing Stones at a Glass Moon [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek and Stiles Being Idiots, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Other Pack(s), Pack Feels, Protective Stiles, Sassy Magic Knife Named Harold, Seriously Isaac is such a Cutie, Sweet Isaac, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoop_1/pseuds/allyoop_1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Derek huffed out a laugh and Stiles realized how close they were standing. He could feel Derek’s breath dance across his face and he dreadfully wanted to step forward and close the last foot of space between them. But he still didn’t know if their kiss from before had been more of a “hey, glad you’re not dead, let’s put our faces together” thing than a “Stiles, I must have your luscious body, kiss me” thing. All he knew was that he sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin whatever it was they had going for them by making the first move.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles strode down the sidewalk precariously balancing a mocha espresso, three large tomes, and two muffins in one hand and checking his phone messages with the other. He narrowly avoided a collision with a fire hydrant at the last moment and proceeded to stumble his way between an older couple who both gave him the stink eye. “Sorry,” he grinned apologetically, though they both just huffed and continued past him.

Returning his attention to his phone, he moaned at the four missed calls: two from Scott, one from Isaac, and the last from his dad. He tried not to dwell on the conspicuous absence of a message from a certain broody wolf and instead sent out a quick message to Scott and his dad saying he’d see them soon.

He figured that Scott most likely wanted to talk about his most recent break-up with Allison and his dad just wanted to check in on him (an occurrence that had become more common after the events of last month) and both of those could wait until he got home. Isaac’s call, however, was a little bit more concerning.

Isaac had always been one of the most sensitive wolves in the pack and hadn’t taken his alpha and second’s capture very well. Much to Derek’s annoyance, he’d trailed them both for days, attempting to assure himself that they were both okay. Stiles’ bruises were especially traumatizing for him, and Stiles found himself giving subtle reassurance to the kid throughout the day in the form of light touches and gentle caresses. It was a little easier now that the bruises had finally faded from his face, but Isaac was still being a tad clingy. Stiles didn’t mind though; he’d never tell the others, but Isaac had always held a special place in his heart and he’d do near anything to give him the comfort he craved.

Pressing the call button and holding the phone to his ear, Stiles breezed into one of the shops, the bell announcing his arrival. Deaton glanced up from where he was consulting with a client and gave Stiles a small, brief smile before nodding his head to the backroom and returning to his client. Stiles made his way to the kennels and dumped his arm’s load onto the exam table just as Isaac answered the call.

“Stiles?”

“Hey buddy, what’s up?” Stiles asked, popping a piece of the muffin into his mouth and leaning against the table.

“Not much, I guess.” There was silence down the line.

Stiles sighed and said, “Isaac, are you alone right now?”

“Yes.”

Stiles thought he was probably at the loft or maybe even out in the preserve (though that was extremely dangerous right now). He was surprised that he wasn’t with the other betas, though they still hadn’t exactly gotten this pack thing down yet and weren’t always there for each other when they needed to be. For now, though, they had Stiles and he could fulfill that role for them.

“You know, Isaac, I’m over at Deaton’s cross-referencing a few texts. If you’re not too busy, I’d love some help.”

They both knew that Isaac was one of the last people who would be able to help Stiles with research, but the palpable relief in Isaac’s voice when he agreed to come over caused Stiles’ heart to constrict a little.

After hanging up, Stiles unlocked what he lovingly called Deaton’s “Witch’s Broom-Closet” and pulled out a couple of texts and laid them side by side with the ones he had brought. Time to start digging.

_You know you’re not going to find anything more in those._

“Yes, but being idle isn’t really my thing. Better to do this than sit at home worrying like an old maid.” Stiles felt Harold, his knife, laugh at him from inside his boot.

_You do that already._

“And I will melt you down and turn you into a serving platter if you ever tell anyone that.”

_Whatever man, all I’m saying is that you’ve read these a thousand times; you’re not going to find any more information._

Harold was right, of course, but that didn’t stop him from re-scouring the books for the information they desperately needed. Plus, he wasn’t too inclined to take advice from a magic knife that had picked out the name Harold for itself.

He was busy comparing ghouls to the Jikininki when he felt Isaac sidle up next to him. Without moving his eyes from the books in front of him, Stiles took Isaac’s hand and set the second muffin in it. He dropped his arm, but let Isaac lean into his side. Isaac was a lot like Derek in that he often craved human interaction, but didn’t trust or necessarily like words.

Stiles worked in silence with Isaac at his side for another half hour before Deaton finally made an appearance. “Have you found anything of note, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles sighed, cracking his neck as he looked up from the tome. “Nah, nothing that would help us. Though I did find out that certain tantric yoga groups in India and Tibet practice a necrophilistic rite of lying upon a corpse or eating a portion of its flesh for enlightening purposes. Some of them even claim…”

He lapsed into silence at the raised eyebrow Deaton was giving him and blushed. Looking over, he saw that Isaac was smiling, so he wasn’t too embarrassed. Clapping his hands, he promptly stood up and gathered his books. “Okay, we gotta get ready for the pack meeting tonight, but I’ll probably be back in the morning. Call me if you find anything else.”

Deaton nodded and Stiles and Isaac headed outside. When they made it to the Jeep, Stiles side-eyed the other boy. “Did you run all the way here?” Isaac’s answering grin made Stiles roll his eyes, but he opened the passenger door for him before jumping in himself.

They were the last ones to make it to the loft, but everyone had waited for them to get started. Isaac flopped to the floor beside Erica and Lydia, but Stiles continued past them to sit in the only spot left on the couch. That may or may not have been located beside a certain alpha wolf.

Derek turned, giving Stiles a small smile, but made no other move to acknowledge him. Which, fine, Stiles could deal with that. He could smile back and keep his hands resolutely to himself. He’d already been doing that for the past month; what was another day?

Derek swiveled back around to address the group at large, a frown returning to his face. “We have a couple of threats that we are facing at the moment: first, bodies are being exhumed from the graveyard and the organs removed.” A couple of people in the pack made faces at this, but for most, it was just another typical day in the Hellmouth of Central California.

Stiles took the pause as a chance to jump in. “I’ve been consulting with Deaton, and we both think that it’s possibly a ghoul, or the equivalent of one. We’re working on possible ways to kill it, and I have some information that I’d like put in the bestiary, if you wouldn’t mind, Danny.”

Danny nodded and Stiles looked back to Derek. Nodding, Derek continued, “Our second threat is that from the hunters. The Fulton pack is now under full attack from the Declan clan of hunters, and we have a responsibility to them for their help last month.” Here Derek finally touched Stiles, though it was just to ghost a hand over a healing cut on the inside of his wrist. Stiles could sense that he was still guilty about leaving him to the mercy of the hunters last month, but Stiles wasn’t going to have any of that. He grabbed Derek’s hand and gave it a brief, hard squeeze, before releasing it and setting his hand on his lap. Derek continued as if nothing had happened, but leaned a little closer into Stiles’ side. “We also have to be weary of a direct attack on our own pack- Stiles’ took out quite a few of their men and their clan leader. I’m sure they aren’t too happy about that.”

Scott and Danny let out catcalls and the rest grinned. No one was too happy about what had happened last month, but they were all glad that Stiles had at least been able to take out some of the sick bastards that had beaten the shit out of him. Glancing beside him, Derek was giving him a proud look that made his insides all twist up. Stupid Derek and his stupid face.

The mood sobered, however, when Derek brought up their next topic: Peter. His grave had been dug up and his body nowhere to be found. Needless to say, it had put everyone on edge, Lydia more so than most.

“What if the grave-robbings and his are related?” Erica tried to reason.

“No,” Stiles answered tiredly; he’d already thought of this. “The other bodies were left in the graves. Only the organs were removed. Peter’s whole body is gone. It’s too much of a MO change.”

Boyd snorted. “Besides, that would be too easy.”

They continued to debate what the best course of action to take would be until Stiles finally put his foot down and told them all to go home. It wouldn’t help anybody to go in circles like they had been and they all looked tired. Usually, after a meeting they would all stick around to eat unhealthy food and play video games (something Stiles had insisted on after the events of last month), but no one was really in the mood. Pretty soon, it was just Stiles, Derek, and Isaac left in the loft and Isaac excused himself to go up to his room (though not before pushing into Stiles’ embrace in farewell).

Stiles was a little nervous to be left alone with Derek, to be honest. They hadn’t exactly talked about the morning after their capture last month, and Stiles wasn’t really sure where they stood in terms of a relationship. That is, if they even had a relationship? Sure, Derek smiled at him a lot more now and there were lingering touches to his palm, his neck, the inside of his wrist, but the kissing thing? Hadn’t exactly been repeated. And Stiles desperately wanted it to be repeated.

“Stiles?”

Stiles head snapped up and by the look on Derek’s face, he knew he’d been trying to get his attention for a while now. His face heated up and he smiled weakly. “Sorry, things on my mind.”

_Things like kissing your face._

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled to Harold, before facing an amused Derek. “My uh, my knife is kind of an idiot.”

_Hey!_

Derek huffed out a laugh and Stiles realized how close they were standing. He could feel Derek’s breath dance across his face and he dreadfully wanted to step forward and close the last foot of space between them. But he still didn’t know if their kiss from before had been more of a “hey, glad you’re not dead, let’s put our faces together” thing than a “Stiles, I must have your luscious body, kiss me” thing. All he knew was that he sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin whatever it was they had going for them by making the first move.

So, he smiled and said, “Need any help cleaning up?” And instead of confessing something that was beginning to feel more and more like a certain word he wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet, he helped rearrange couch cushions and clean Coca-Cola spills from the carpet.


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t know how I’ve lived without her Stiles; she’s all I ever think about.”

“Really, I couldn’t tell.”

“She has the most beautiful dimples. Like, I didn’t even know that dimples could be so pretty. But hers are. I just want to lick them all the time.”

“I’d wondered when we’d get to the part where I could make dog jokes.”

“And her _eyes._ I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade on another person. I can see, like, the universe and shit when I stare into them for too long.”

“So eloquent, Scott. Maybe you should try writing her a poem again.”

Scott sprang up from where he was lounging on Stiles’ bed and shot Stiles a hopeful look. “Do you think that’d work?”

Stiles pushed his exasperated expression into the carpet from where he was spread out on the floor of his bedroom and used all his willpower not to bang his head repeatedly into the ground. “Well, considering how well that went last time, absolutely not.”

Scott fell back to the bed with a dramatic groan. “I can’t take this, Stiles. I need her.”

Stiles had to bite back a grin. Even after all of the horrible supernatural shit that they had gone through in the past couple of months, he could always rely on Scott to make him feel like a teenager again. Even if Scott’s love-sick puppy shtick was getting on Stiles’ nerves a little.

He sighed as he sat up and propped his chin by Scott’s face on the bed. “Listen, Scotty. You and Allison are the real deal. I know that, you know that, everyone with half a brain knows that. You guys will figure it out eventually, but for now you just need to cool it for a while, yeah? Give her some time to figure things out.” Scott made a pouty face at him. “And don’t make that face. Seriously, if _that_ doesn’t scare her off, I don’t know what will.”

Stiles went down laughing as Scott made an affronted noise and pulled him into a headlock, tumbling them both to the floor in a heap of limbs. They wrestled for a while before Scott started begging for mercy. He may be a werewolf, but Stiles still knew all of his ticklish spots.

They both startled when “Fly on the Wall” started blasting from Scott’s phone. He blushed at Stiles’ smothered giggles, but resolutely said, “Miley Cyrus was the bomb, okay?” Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he ignored Stiles’ hysterical laughter and accepted the call. “Hello?”

He continued to laugh to himself as Scott listened to whoever was on the other side of the call. Stiles sobered a little when Scott’s face fell into a frown and he moved to sit on the bed when Scott rose to his feet to start pacing around Stiles’ cramped room.

“Yeah, but what about… No, I’m sure it’s not. It couldn’t be, right?” A long pause on Scott’s part, before he glanced Stiles’ way. “Yeah, he’s here with me-” Another pause and Scott sighed. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. Okay, we won’t… Okay yeah, bye.” He hung up and then collapsed on the bed beside Stiles.

“Derek’s pissed at you,” he said.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He thought back on the past couple of days and couldn’t come up with anything mildly infuriating he’d done. Well, unless you counted when he’d knocked Derek’s toothbrush into the toilet while washing his hands. But Derek wouldn’t have known about that; he’d cleaned it. Kind of. “Wait, why?”

“Check your phone.”

Stiles dove for his phone and saw that it was set to silent. He was distressed to see three missed calls from Isaac and one from Derek. That Derek had finally called him, even in a situation like this, made Stiles’ stomach flutter. Before it cramped with dread, because Derek never called unless there was something seriously wrong going on.

“Don’t start freaking out.” Scott grabbed his arm when Stiles started to panic. “The Fulton pack was just attacked again. No one was hurt, but the attacks are getting more frequent. Isaac said Derek thinks they are getting braver, might try a full blown attack soon. He was also worried that they might have attacked some of ours.”

Stiles snapped his head towards Scott, anxiety spiking again. “Did they?”

“No, everyone’s accounted for. Isaac said you and I were the last. Well, technically, you were the first, but since you didn’t answer…”

“Wait, you were on the phone with Isaac?” Scott nodded and Stiles let out a harsh breath. “Then Derek still doesn’t know-”

“That you’re alive?” Stiles whipped around to find Derek standing in his doorway, arms crossed and face set in an anger Stiles hadn’t seen directed at himself for a long while. Without moving his eyes from Stiles, Derek growled out “Scott. Out.”

Stiles spun to Scott, pleading with his eyes for Scott not to leave him. Scott looked torn, but with one last snarl from Derek, he gave Stiles an apologetic grimace and squeezed past Derek and through the door. After his steps faded down the staircase, Stiles was left staring at his ratty Converse in a silence so oppressive it felt grating. It was too much, too much weight bearing down on him, and he found he had to break it, even if it meant the wrath of Derek.

“So, I see we’ve returned to seething glares and monosyllables.” Derek’s answering silence made him hunch further into himself. “Look, I’m sorry that I-”

“Don’t.”

The word was lightning-fast and harsh, piercing right through all of Stiles’ ready-made excuses and defenses. This deadly calm Derek was not one Stiles was used to dealing with, and he found that for once he didn’t know what to say to make the situation better.

“We had an agreement, Stiles. Everyone is supposed to keep their phone on and near them at all times. Everyone else in the pack answered when I called. Everyone but you.” Stiles felt Derek start moving closer, but found he still couldn’t look up at him. “You deliberately disobeyed me today, Stiles.”

At this, Stiles’ eyes snapped up to Derek’s face. “I didn’t ‘deliberately’ disobey you, I just forgot, okay? It was an accident. I wasn’t trying to undermine you or anything.”

“Try or not, you did undermine me and that doesn’t bode well for the integrity of this pack.”

“That’s bullshit.” Stiles was on his feet now, hands clenched into fists. “It was one missed call, Derek, not the end of the fucking world. It’s not like I ignored you on purpose, I just didn’t want any distractions while Scott was over. And what do you even mean, the integrity of this pack? Even if I did disobey you, which I’m not admitting to, it wouldn’t break the pack.”

“But it could, Stiles. They all trust you, look up to you. Any move you make, they’ll follow you and I don’t think-”

“What, you think I’ll start a mutiny?” Stiles laughed in Derek’s face. “That’s stupid, even for you.”

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even meant it. He opened his mouth to take it back, but Derek continued as if he wasn’t fazed by the comment. “No, I don’t think you’ll start a mutiny, but any sign of insubordination from you and they’ll follow.”

“That’s ridiculous, Derek, I’m not even-”

“You’re more important to them than you think.”

“That doesn’t even-”

“And I can’t have you going against my orders, Stiles.”

“I’m not one of your wolves Derek!” Stiles was practically shouting at this point and it hurt, physically hurt, to yell at Derek but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop thinking of how angry he has been at him, at how they haven’t been able to talk, haven’t been able to go back to the easy relationship they had before. “No matter how much you want it, I’m not just going to bare my neck and let you bully me into getting what you want.”

Derek looked shocked for the first time in the conversation. “That’s not even what- I never said that! I don’t want-” Derek dropped his face into his hands and heaved a huge sigh, defeated. “We’re getting off track. What matters is that you know to keep your phone on. It’s too dangerous to make any more mistakes. You know what happened that last time the pack failed to stay in contact.” Here his eyes flickered down to the cut on Stiles’ wrist again.

Stiles let out a harsh breath. Of course. This was never about insubordination. Derek had just been… what, afraid? Their pack had a bit of a history of not staying in contact and the last time it had happened, Stiles had been a casualty. Looking at it that way, Stiles felt like an ass. He started to reach out a hand to Derek, apologies heavy on his lips, but Derek stepped back.

"Derek-"

“Just. Stay safe, Stiles.” And then he was out the door.

With the adrenaline draining away, Stiles felt cold and stupid. He slowly sunk to the bed, arms hugging himself. He hated fighting with anyone and almost never lost it like that, but it’d especially never been that bad with Derek. He didn’t know where all of that anger had come from and it scared him, especially since the fight had been so trivial.

As he sat there, shivering, he could only hope that he hadn't ruined something that was just beginning between them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m kind of operating off the idea that Peter didn’t come back from the dead after Derek killed him to become the alpha. Like, he’s kind of just been chilling in the grave while all of this other stuff goes down and never used Lydia to reanimate into the zombie wolf thingy he is now, or whatever. So, I guess this is kind of AU, though it probably already was because there are an awful lot of people in it that should be dead, but… Yeah, enjoy.

“Stilinski! Hey, wait up!”

Glancing back to see an angry looking Jackson storming down the street, Stiles sighed and grabbed Isaac’s sleeve. “What are the chances he’ll just give up if we ignore him?”

Isaac smiled lightly at him as they both sped up. “I’ve heard if you don’t move, reptiles can’t see you.”

“I can hear you, assholes!”

Throwing his head back in a dramatic groan, Stiles jerked Isaac to a stop in front of Deaton’s door. He swung them both around to face a fuming Jackson. “Look, we have a lot of research to do. What do you need, Jacks?”

“Don’t call me that.” Stiles threw up his hands in a placating gesture. Jackson’s eyes narrowed, but he continued. “Derek sent me to tell you what we found at Peter’s gravesite.”

Stiles was immediately interested. This thing with Peter had been bothering him almost as much as the grave-robbings, but he couldn’t research Peter’s situation with so little information. Anything the werewolves could have picked up around the burial site would be an immense help.

Jackson must have noticed Stiles’ obvious interest, because a slow smile spread across his face. “Yeah, pretty important things we learned today. I mean, this information could be vital to, say, someone’s investigation into the disappearance.”

Stiles didn’t have time for this. “Jackson, don’t be an asshole. What did you find?”

“I don’t know, I feel like maybe I should be charging for this-”

“Stiles asked you a question, Jackson.” Stiles glanced over to see Isaac’s eyes glowing yellow and had to stifle a giggle. Sure, this probably wasn’t the best for pack dynamics, but damn, if Stiles wasn’t proud of Isaac right now. If he wasn’t already, Isaac would be being upgraded to favorite beta right about then.

Jackson frowned at Isaac’s stoic form. “Geez, I was just kidding. Calm down, Lahey.” He looked nervously between Stiles and Isaac. “We didn’t find much; other than the grave, nothing was disturbed. There were no tracks leading to or from the site and there weren’t any recognizable scents around, though that might be because of all the rain we’ve had lately.”

Stiles exhaled morosely. They were pretty much back to square one. Looks like a he was facing another dull day full of research. At least it would be a distraction from worrying about the fight with Derek.

“There was something kind of weird, though.” Stiles’ reverie was broken at the sound of Jackson’s voice. “The dirt didn’t look like it had been shoveled out. Almost all of it was still inside the grave, just disturbed and kind of pooling over the sides. Derek thought it had just been piled back in after Peter had been removed.”

“But you don’t think so?” Stiles guessed, afraid of what his answer would be.

Jackson shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t. The dirt looked like it had been pushed out. Like someone had clawed their way up from beneath.” He paused, taking time to meet each of their worried stares. “I don’t think someone dug up Peter’s body; I think he dug his own way out.”

***

That night found Stiles watching baseball with his dad. He didn’t particularly like either of the teams playing, but it was nice to just have some time alone with his dad. Also, he needed a break after the intense research he had thrown himself into after Jackson's reveal earlier that day, and the familiar evening with his dad satisfied that need nicely.

After four innings of watching his favorite team pound the other, the Sheriff was in a good mood, giving Stiles the courage to ask a question that had been on his mind for a while now.

“Hey, Dad?” The Sheriff peeked up from where he was nursing his second beer of the night. “I have a hypothetical situation.”

His dad snorted and mumbled into his beer, “Aren’t they always hypothetical?” At Stiles’ narrow-eyed expression, he sighed. “Okay shoot, son.”

Stiles dropped his gaze to where he was nervously tugging at his soda’s label. “Well, say there’s this guy. He’s kind of loud and talks a lot, but he’s charming in his own way, ya know? And there’s this other guy, he’s super amazing and hot like burning, but he’s like totally a downer all the time and is kind of a growly wolf but he’s hiding like this totally sweet side underneath it all too-”

“Stiles, you’re leaving the hypothetical.”

“Oh, um right.” Stiles cleared his throat uncertainly, realizing he'd torn the entire label off. He flicked it to the coffee table before continuing. “Well, yeah, _hypothetically_ , these two guys kissed and it was amazing and sweet and kind of everything the first guy had ever wanted. But then they never talked about it again and it’s kind of all up in the air now and they had this huge fight that was so stupid and all the first guy’s fault and he just really wants to figure everything out, because he’s pretty sure he’s falling head over heels in love with the other guy.” He finished the last all in one breath and closed his eyes. After a couple of moments of intense silence, he peeled one eye open to find the Sheriff staring at him in confusion.

“Wait, who’s the first guy again?”

Stiles jumped to his feet, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “For the love of- oh my God Dad, I’m going to bed.” He almost made it past his father before the older man started laughing and pulled him to sit beside him.

“Calm down, Stiles, I was only joking.” The Sheriff’s face sobered, but the smile still lingered on his lips. “I think that the first guy is over-thinking things a little bit. The second guy obviously feels something for the other; he brought breakfast over every day for two weeks when the first guy was injured once.”

“Dad, you're leaving the hypothetical," Stiles mocked.

The Sheriff smiled. “You and Derek are going to get this figured out. And if you’re so worried about it, why don’t you talk to him instead of me? I’m old and crotchety; the ways of love are lost to me.”

“You are so weird, Dad.”

“My blood runs through your veins.”

“Don’t remind me.”

They watched the rest of the game, bickering over which team had a better game (“Just because they _won_ , Dad, doesn’t mean they _played_ better!”), before both retiring to their respective rooms for the night. Stiles took his time getting ready for bed, mind still buzzing from the information Jackson had given him earlier and the talk with his dad. And the fight with Derek, of course, but he was actively ignoring that at this point. By the time he finally rolled into bed, he had calmed down enough to fall asleep. Until he heard the slide of his window opening.

Rolling to face the window, he saw a shadow moving against the darkness. “Der’k?”

The figure froze and Stiles stiffened with it. “No.”

Stiles relaxed at the familiar voice, though he still felt a little disappointed. He sat up tiredly.

“Hey buddy, what’s up?” he yawned.

Isaac slunk over to the bed, but hesitated to sit down. Stiles moved over slightly and patted the bed in invitation. Isaac slid into the vacated spot, still looking uncertain. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Stiles took Isaac’s hand. “Something bothering you?”

“I’m… worried. About the pack.”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s scary, all the things that are trying to kill us right now.”

“No. Not that.” Isaac’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m worried that we’ll never figure this thing out. That we’ll never come together. That we’ll always be separate, not a real pack.”

Stiles was surprised, but not overly so. Like he’d said before, Isaac was sensitive. “You’re talking about the thing with Jackson. When he messed with us earlier today?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah. He shouldn’t have done that. Especially since you’re the second.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “I’m the what?”

“The second.” Isaac drawled out, as if speaking to a small child. “You know, as in Derek’s right-hand man?”

Stiles laughed. “Isaac, I’m _not_ Derek’s second. Don’t you think I could talk some sense into him sometimes if I were?”

“Have you never noticed that he always defers to you when making a decision? Listens to your opinion before telling anyone his?”

Stiles had to pause at this. He had noticed that Derek did seek out his opinion on almost every decision, but he’d always chalked it up to the werewolf recognizing Stiles’ obviously superior intellect. But that didn’t mean he was his second, right?

Stiles racked his brain for another reason he couldn’t be the second and snapped his fingers when he got it. “But a second has to be a werewolf.”

“No,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “A second has to be someone the Alpha trusts. And you know Derek trusts you more than anyone else.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Isaac, Derek doesn’t trust me more than you guys. You’re his betas- you share magic wolfy bonds.”

He was shocked at how vehement Isaac became, pushing closer into his space and widening his eyes with meaning. “But we all betrayed him! Boyd and Erica ran away and I left him for Scott.” Stiles heart broke at the self-deprecating expression that crossed Isaac’s face at this, but the younger boy just rushed on before Stiles could console him. “You’ve always been there for him, Stiles. For him and all of us too. We can trust you. That’s what makes you the second.”

Stiles still didn’t really think it was even possible, but Isaac looked so earnest that he couldn’t keep arguing. “Okay, I believe you.” The relief in Isaac’s face at that made Stiles feel vaguely guilty, but he wasn’t about to deny Isaac even this small happiness.

“But you shouldn’t worry about the pack,” Stiles continued. “We’ll get it all sorted out soon enough. I mean, look at far we’ve come in the last month!” The pack meetings and impromptu hangouts were really drawing them all closer together, even if there were still times when they all clashed. Like that morning, for instance. “We’re new at this, Isaac. New things take time. That doesn’t mean we won’t get there eventually. We’ll come together, you’ll see.”

Isaac also still looked on edge, so Stiles brushed a hand over his shoulder and rested it on his forearm. “Was there something else bothering you?”

Isaac bit his lip and whispered, “Yeah, I just. I don’t like that you’re here. Alone.”

Stiles felt his heart melt. Seriously, his favorite. “Would it make you feel better to stay here tonight.” Isaac slowly nodded his head. “Okay then, there’s an extra pillow in my closet, grab it will you?”

Isaac retrieved the pillow and kicked off his shoes. He made to lie on the ground, but Stiles huffed and pulled him onto the bed beside himself. Isaac froze for a second, before tentatively snaking an arm around Stiles’ waist. When all Stiles did was wrap his arms around him, he shoved his face into Stiles’ clavicle, nestling in closer. Stiles snorted (because how was that even comfortable?), before slowly drifting off to sleep, his last move being to pull the younger boy in closer.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles cursed as his fingers fumbled over the knot for what seemed like the fifteenth time. The left end went under the right- no that wasn’t right, it was the other way around. The right end went under the left, and then he looped it over the other thing and pulled until the little end went over the big thing… Stiles threw his hands up in the air in defeat as the tie refused to be anything other than a messy red lump on his chest.

“Fine, tie, have it your way. I don’t even like maroon!” He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh God, I’m talking to inanimate objects again.”

_It worked out pretty well the last time._

Stiles peaked between his fingers and glared at the knife sitting innocently on the dresser. “Shut up, Harold, it’s not healthy. I probably have a plethora of mental conditions and no one tells me because they’re afraid I’ll freak out and kill everyone with my mind powers.”

 _I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of_ Carrie, _not real life. Besides, you’re just stressed about the Fulton’s visiting. You know, you’d probably feel better if you brought me…_

“I am not bringing a knife to a friendly visit between packs. Besides, you wouldn’t fit in my dress shoes and I’m not making the mistake of putting you in my back pocket again.”

 _I cut your ass_ one _time and suddenly there’s no trust between us-_

“Can you shut up? I’m trying to get ready here.” Stiles quickly wrestled himself into the slacks Lydia had ironed for him that morning and stared morosely into the mirror. His hair was sticking up at odd angles and no amount of spit or water would tame it that morning. He sighed and just hoped that he’d be able to pull off the tousled Robert Pattinson look. People still thought that was sexy, right?

_You look like a Muppet._

Stiles nonchalantly brushed the knife into the wastebasket beside the dresser as he walked past, ignoring the knife’s persistent curses. He slid his loafers on and then glowered at his tie, the maroon tangle almost seeming to laugh at his incompetence.

He had to get this perfect. They were supposed to start the meeting downstairs in the sitting room of the Hale house in half an hour, and he still couldn’t get the damn tie right. Grabbing each end, he tried in earnest to get them to magically assemble together into a knot. Every time he came near, though, the whole thing would fall apart, causing him to growl in frustration.

Stiles hated ties. They were obnoxious, came in ugly colors, and were impossible to work with. Frowning at the tie, he was suddenly vividly reminded of his mother’s funeral, his father painstakingly trying to teach him the proper way to knot a tie so that they could attend the service.

He paused, the memory punching a hole through him. It had been such a long time since he’d had to put on his own tie that he’d almost forgotten. It had been gray back then, instead of crimson, but the silk had slipped just as easily through his fingers then as it was doing now. The Sheriff had attempted to coax a young Stiles’ fingers into performing the right motions for what seemed like hours, but had eventually given up and tied it himself. Each drag of Stiles’ fingers over the glossy linen revealed another part of the memory: his father’s silent tears, the quiet intensity with which he worked, the smell of whiskey that had followed him around that day…

“Stiles!” Stiles almost flailed to the ground with his effort to turn toward the open door and an angry Lydia. “I did not spend my entire morning slaving over a hot iron just for you to stand around up here like an idiot.” She did a double-take when she saw his chest. “Are you serious? No, let me do it.” She waved off his insistences that he could do it himself and came to stand in front of him. Her nimble fingers quickly worked the tie until it was in a perfect knot. After finishing, she brushed off his shoulders and whistled. “Damn Stilinski, you clean up good.”

Stiles grinned, but it felt forced. He was still a little shocked by the memory that had seized him. “Oh, but not as well as you Ms. Martin. Looking as radiant as ever.”

It was true. Lydia looked stunning in a light red summer dress, her hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. She preened at his compliment before pulling him out of the room by his tie. “Come on, the pack should be here by now.”

Stiles followed her to the bottom of the stairs to find the rest of the pack waiting for them in the sitting room. Stiles took a seat on the sofa, sandwiching himself between Danny and Erica. Erica was busy trying to relate some hilarious story about a python and a birthday hat to both Danny and Boyd, and her hair kept smacking Stiles in the face every time she turned. Normally he would make some joking remark about chopping off her golden locks while she was sleeping, but he found that he was truly irritated by it for some odd reason and didn’t want to open his mouth in fear of what would slip out. He took a couple of calming breaths, willing himself to cool down. It would be dangerous for him to be so off-balanced with another pack in the house.

“Hey dude, you okay?” Scott’s concerned voice cut into his thoughts. “You’re looking a little pale.”

Stiles looked up to find a couple of worried pairs of eyes fixed on him. Slamming a self-deprecating smile up, he said, “Oh you know me, burning the midnight oil and all that jazz while researching. I’m just tired.” It was enough of a half-truth to satisfy the werewolves around him and Scott just smiled sympathetically. Gotta love Scott.

Stiles only had time to breathe out a quick sigh in relief before Derek breezed through the door, causing Stiles’ heartbeat to pick up again. He hadn’t seen him since their fight, and he wasn’t sure how to act around him. Were they still fighting? Could they talk? Stiles desperately wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t think Derek wanted to talk back; he’d actively been avoiding Stiles for almost a whole week. Stiles’ only hope was that Derek was waiting for Stiles to make the first move, though even then he was kind of screwed because Stiles sucked at taking the initiative in social situations. The constant stress of it all was starting to hinder his already spotty sleep schedule, and he could feel it wearing down on his body.

As he walked in, Derek’s gaze cut across the room to take in his pack. Stiles stared at the wolf, hoping to catch his eye, but Derek’s evaluating glare cut right over him. At this point, Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek’s avoidance was a good thing or not.

“Listen up,” Derek began. “The Fulton’s are here. I want you all to treat them with the same respect and courtesy you would extend to a new girlfriend or boyfriend’s parents.” Way to go Derek, for finally adapting your speech to your teenage audience. “Remember what we’ve talked about.” He gave them all a significant look before he turned to the doors. “I’d like you all to meet Alpha Cassandra and her betas.”

The spikey-haired woman that he had met in the hunter’s den last month strode through the door, wearing the same smug grin that she’d flaunted at the enemy hunters before using her teeth to rip out their intestines. Stiles had to admit that she made an impressive figure, what with her tall, strong build and her overwhelming confidence. It made him anxious that she saw fit to posture in front of his pack. She was immediately followed by the rest of her human and wolf betas. Leliana and Seth were together towards the back and both waved excitably at him. He smiled back, but it was forced; the pack’s entrance into the house was irritating him, like a low buzz under his skin, and he was having trouble focusing.

Even though both packs had agreed that this meeting wouldn’t be too formal (the only reason his pack was even dressed up was because Lydia had insisted that first impressions went a long way. Stiles wasn’t too sure about the idea; the first time he’d met the Fulton’s, he’d been covered in Derek’s blood and here they were), they ended up separating themselves across the room with both alphas in the middle of their packs. Derek squeezed in beside Danny, and Stiles felt a little better having his alpha so close.

“Derek, I’m so glad you invited us to meet here.” Cassandra addressed with a razor sharp smile. “I think it will be very beneficial for our packs to band together in this time of need.”

Derek’s answering smile was very convincing, but Stiles could see the little chinks in his armor that meant Derek was a lot more anxious than he was letting on and it put Stiles further on edge. “Of course. We couldn’t just stand by and watch you be attacked when you had helped us out just a few weeks before.”

Cassandra’s grin could only be described as wolfish and it was making Stiles even more uneasy. He didn’t know why it suddenly seemed so hot in the room or why the tie around his neck suddenly felt like a noose. He’d never gotten a bad vibe from the Fulton pack. In fact, he had kept in touch with Seth and Leliana after their escape, and he felt as if they were becoming good friends. But their presence here in the pack home and the posturing their alpha was making against his own was starting to make his vision swim and his hearing cut out. Combined with the anxiety the memory had already unearthed earlier, he was having trouble keeping up with the conversation, his heart pounding too hard in his ears for him to hear much else.

He knew he had to get out of the room and let the panic pass, but he couldn’t just leave without insulting Cassandra and he didn’t want to leave his pack alone. He distantly noticed that the babble of voices had stopped and blearily looked up. He found that most of the eyes in the room were focused on him, meaning he’d probably been addressed directly and they were waiting on his answer. The room was spinning so wildly now that Stiles was afraid he was going to pass out soon, but he somehow found the strength to smile politely at the alpha and say, “If you’ll excuse me, Alpha Cassandra,” before climbing shakily to his feet and walking out the door.

Once he’d made it past the range of werewolf hearing in the nearly soundproofed house, he tugged at his tie until it let up its strangling hold on his neck out and stumbled to brace himself against the wall. He rested there, waiting for his heart to calm down and his breaths to come in semi-even intervals. When his body finally started to cooperate enough so that he could think, he was livid.

“Dammit!” He banged a fist against the wall in front of him, his forehead coming to rest against it. He had to go back in there; he’d made a fool out of himself and thus the pack, and he had to make nice and apologize. With the way the Declan hunters had been moving lately, they needed this alliance for protection. He couldn’t believe he’d been betrayed by his own body.

He pushed away from the wall and started to walk back to the room, but he caught his reflection in the mirror. He cursed again because he’d undone the stupid tie when he came out. He frantically tried to replicate the complicated maneuver he’d seen Lydia do earlier, but the harder he tried, the worse the knot looked. He didn’t notice the presence behind him until large, warm hands were closing over his from behind and taking control. He paused in confusion, still breathing hard, until his eyes flickered up to the mirror and were met with dark hazel-green ones. He couldn’t draw his gaze away as he felt the deft hands unhurriedly working on the tie.

“Shouldn’t you be in there?” Stiles winced at how raw his voice sounded.

“Boyd’s taking care of it.” Derek pulled the last loop, the knot complete. Instead of letting his arms fall, though, he grabbed both of Stiles’ still raised hands and twined their fingers together over his chest.

It was quiet, the only sound in the foyer the ticking of an heirloom grandfather clock. It wasn’t long before Stiles couldn’t take the piercing green-eyed gaze in the mirror any longer and blurted out in a low voice, “I’m sorry.”

Derek was already shaking his head before Stiles was even done and breathed out a soft, “Stiles.” He slowly dragged one of their entangled hands up to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss against its palm, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ in the mirror. Stiles let out a harsh hiss of breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob before throwing himself into the wall of heat behind him and letting Derek’s arm circle around his waist, their hands still linked.

A slew of apologies spewed from his mouth in a constant wave, but Derek’s only response was to tighten his arms around him and gently press his lips to the exposed skin on Stiles’ upper shoulder. With every ghost of a breath against his neck, Stiles could feel more and more anxiety slowly bleed from his muscles until he felt limp in Derek’s hold. Feeling himself relax for the first time since their fight, Stiles could only push further back into the wolf’s embrace.

Derek began gently trailing his nose up and down Stiles’ neck. Stiles figured that he was only scent marking one of his packmates after a stressful event, but it was comforting none-the-less and he let go of the last of his stress. They remained like this for a while, the only sound in the dimly lit hallway their shallow breathing. Derek finally stilled and brought his eyes up to meet Stiles’ in the mirror.

“Better?” His voice was pitched low and sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“Yeah…” He wasn’t sure how to thank Derek for this, so he simply brought their hands to his mouth and returned the kiss to the wolf’s palm. Derek seemed to get it, because he gave Stiles one of the rare smiles that Stiles was beginning to think were meant just for him.

Though Stiles was feeling less anxious about the other pack being there, he still was a tad worried about it. It especially bothered him that the other alpha had been acting so cocky around Derek. “Why was she posturing so hard around you?”

Derek knew exactly who Stiles was talking about and shook his head. “It’s a natural reaction to being in another alpha’s den. Hard to reign in.” His thumb started rubbing soft strokes against Stiles’ knuckles.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed. “So you’re not worried about it?”

Derek sighed. “No.” His gaze caught Stiles’ in the mirror again. “You shouldn’t be either.”

“I want to go back in.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, but not doubtfully. When Stiles nodded, Derek simply sent him a reassuring smile, squeezed his arms around Stiles one last time before dropping them, and turned to head back to the room with the others. Stiles followed, realizing that the knot that had been present in his stomach since their fight had finally loosened.

***

The slam of the Jeep door echoed loudly in the quiet of the forest, and Stiles couldn’t help but flinch. The vast amount of branches above him created a blanket above the clearing, blocking most of the dying sunlight from reaching the ground. It created an eerie atmosphere, completed by the freshly dug up grave before him.

Stiles didn’t really know why he was here, especially at a time of such uncertainty. There could be hunters out for blood in these woods, not to mention whatever was robbing the graves in town. But he’d felt a draw to come here that had become increasingly harder to ignore.

Taking a couple of cautious steps towards the turned dirt, Stiles knelt down and sifted some through his fingers. As loathe as he was to admit it, Jackson was right. Peter's grave had been pushed from the bottom up, not dug out. Stiles was almost too afraid to reflect on what that meant, but had to curse his insatiable curiosity and its nagging insistence that he stay here and figure this out.

An odd feeling stole over Stiles and his brow furrowed. Looking up, he realized that all noise had ceased in the forest. The cicadas that had just been singing were eerily silent and he couldn’t see a single sign of any wildlife in his surroundings. He felt an anxious nudge from Harold.

_Stiles, something is wrong._

Stiles ignored him in favor of standing up and scrutinizing the forest around him. He took a couple of steps toward the outer edge of the clearing.

_I mean it, Stiles, you shouldn’t be here. No one knows where you are!_

He was about to walk a little further into the forest when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. A figure was standing about fifty feet from him. In the relative darkness of the trees he couldn’t see any defining features, but it was sort of slumped to the side, its head cocked at a weird angle. It definitely wasn’t a hunter, because a hunter wouldn’t be able to stand there with such unnatural stillness, but it was humanoid; it was wearing clothes, though they looked pretty tattered and were covered in something dark.

Stiles had stopped breathing when he saw it, but he let out a harsh breath when he realized that it was blood. It was covered in _blood_. Breathing was a bad move, though, because as soon as he moved the thing let out a low, harsh hiss that made everything in Stiles scream to run.

God, this was stupid, this was so stupid, he was going to die out here and no one would ever find the body. Or worse, they would and he’d be a mutilated corpse with no internal organs. He liked his organs, he really did, they got the job done and were great right where they were, no need to take them out-

His fear induced panic was interrupted by a high-pitched noise from his pocket. His eyes flickered down to his phone before quickly returning back up, but the thing was gone. Spinning around in a circle, he raked the forest for any sign of it, but it looked like the phone had scared it off. Speaking of the phone. He tried to get his heartbeat back in control before looking at the screen. Scott.

“Hey Scotty, old pal. What’s up?” His eyes were still cutting around the forest, afraid he’d be attacked from behind.

“Stiles! Where are you?”

Shit. “Oh you know, here, there. Why?” He started backing up to his Jeep, eyes never stopping their frantic search.

“Oh, um, I just wanted to hang out, you know? Because we’re best friends and I miss you and-”

Stiles sighed. “You want to talk about Allison again, don’t you?”

“…Maybe.” Scott said in a small voice. “She’s just been so distant lately and it’s driving me insane! I mean, I love her and…”

Stiles let Scott ramble on and jumped in his Jeep. He took one last look around before putting it into drive and pulling back onto the gravel road he’d used to get out here.

Interrupting Scott’s lamentation of Allison’s fingernails, Stiles said, “Listen Scott, I’m going to have to call you back. I need to talk to Derek.” He really didn’t want to have to talk to Derek about this.

“But, why?”

Stiles restrained himself from slamming his head into the steering wheel. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw the thing that’s been digging up the graves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, man, I don't even know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So upon further inspection, I realized that I was using both the loft and the newly renovated Hale house as meeting points for the pack, which doesn’t really make sense because, like, why would they still use the loft if they have the this nifty new house? So I was like you know what? Imma fill these plot holes by having Derek live in the loft but use the house for meetings and pack stuff, yeah that fixes everything, you’re a genius Ellie, wow you deserve a cookie. So, disregarding all other plot holes (of which there are probably many), enjoy!

Stiles parked outside of Derek’s loft and then slumped further in his seat in dread. The cold stone structure seemed to mock him and his cowardice, taunting him with empty windows and characterless walls.

He sighed, thinking of the fight with Derek that he just knew was coming. The alpha had been relatively calm when Stiles had called and explained the events of the afternoon with the creature to him, but Stiles knew he was just saving all of his anger for when they were face to face. And really, that kind of bugged Stiles.

It wasn’t his fault that bad shit happened around him all the time. He was literally a beacon in Beacon Hills for trouble. Alpha packs, evil druids, witches, vampires, kanimas, whichever creature feature decided to mess up the pack’s week. Stiles never asked for it, but never complained or hesitated when he had to help clean it up.

It wasn’t like he went to that clearing without any protection at all, either; he’d just conveniently forgotten to tell anyone that he was going out into the dark, monster-infested woods alone. Look, red riding hood had done it and she turned out fine, right?

And seriously, he’d had Harold with him out there. He’d had a magical talking knife, for Pete’s sake!

_Hey, don’t drag me into this. You and your boy toy can battle this one out on your own._

Speaking of Derek, Derek and all his masochistic, man-pain-induced protectiveness. Stiles didn’t want or need to be coddled. He was a grown ass man and could take care of himself, thank you very much. Who was Derek to tell him what he could and couldn’t do? He wouldn’t stand for this outrageous behavior! He would march right in there and tell Derek exactly what he thought of this whole protective streak the wolf had going on.

Stiles jumped out the jeep, making sure to slam the door on his way out, and strode toward the building. The entire ascent found him gaining more and more steam, ready to tear down any arguments Derek made. After making it to the top, he heaved the door open and marched straight to the center of the loft.

He was met with the visage of Derek’s back, which he normally would stop to admire, but today only served to make him angrier. The wolf was seemingly contemplating the giant window before him, one arm leisurely stretched behind his back. Which was bullshit, Stiles knew; the wolf had to have heard him at least a mile off, maybe more since his jeep had started making that annoying rattling noise that probably meant his brakes were about to fall out. But anyway. Focusing.

“Derek,” he started, mustering together a badass entrance line. “I need to talk to you.” Yeah, badass.

Derek turned around, a slightly steaming mug in one hand and a smirk on his face. He slowly raised one eyebrow. “Yes?” he inquired.

Stiles jumped the last couple of steps down to the main floor and stomped right up into Derek’s face. “Okay, listen. I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. You’ve been super-” He paused as the steam from Derek’s mug wafted up to his face. His brow crinkled. “Is this… is this tea? Are you seriously drinking tea right now?”

The corners of Derek’s mouth curled at Stiles’ dumbfounded expression. “Chai. Helps to calm me.” He raised his other eyebrow to complete the Matching Caterpillars of Doom. “Is that a problem?”

Stiles didn’t know what expression his face was making, but it couldn’t have been a good one with the way Derek was trying not to laugh at it. “No, it’s just…” really freaking adorable. Stiles schooled his face back into a frown. “Never mind. As I was saying, I know you’re probably furious at my actions from earlier today, but I really don’t think it’s fair of you to blame me.”

“I don’t.”

“Right, but here’s the thing, Derek. You need to-” Stiles paused again. “Wait, what?”

Derek looked completely serious when he repeated, “I don’t. Blame you I mean.”

Stiles wasn’t really sure what he was hearing right now. His face scrunched in suspicious confusion. “What are you playing at?”

A smile stretched across Derek’s face. “I’m not playing at anything. You did what you thought you had to. I’m not mad.”

“No, but you’re supposed to be mad!” Stiles huffed. “I, and this is a direct quote right here, ‘deliberately disobeyed’ your orders. I went into the woods! Without letting anybody know where I was. To the site of your missing, psychotic uncle’s grave. Completely unprotected!” He ended the sentence with a flail of his arms, trying to convey the seriousness of his offence to Derek with his own version of sign language. When Derek just kept smiling, Stiles threw his hands in the air. “Oh come on Derek, I had an entire argument lined up for this. Give me something I can use!”

Derek snorted, but set his tea on the coffee table and pulled Stiles to sit beside him on the couch. He was still smirking, but the look in his eyes was genuine. “Listen Stiles, I’ve been thinking.”

“Better be careful there, Der. Wouldn’t want your pretty little face to melt.” Stiles grinned, but it drooped when Derek glared. “Sorry, I’ll uh… You go on.”

Derek glowered for a couple of seconds before continuing. “About what you said back in your room. You were right- you’re not one of my betas and I can’t just boss you around like one.”

Stiles immediately felt guilt rise up his throat. “No, Derek, I shouldn’t have-”

Derek silenced him by sliding a hand onto his knee. Stiles relaxed into the contact. “I can’t control you, Stiles, and I’d never want to. Your spontaneity, your spark, is what gets us out of a hell of a lot of scrapes and I’d be an idiot not to recognize that. I’m never going to be able to stop you from doing stupid, dangerous things,” Derek grinned at Stiles’ exaggerated pout. “And I’ll probably never stop worrying, but I’m not going to stop you or yell at you for it. I trust you.”

Stiles felt every inch of Derek’s sincerity, saw the depth of it in his eyes, felt it in the warmth of the hand still resting on his knee. It stirred something in his core to know what the wolf was giving him. He basked in the free-flowing trust between him that a year before would have seemed impossible. Trying to convey as much gratitude and sincerity as possible, he said, “Thank you.” Derek seemed to get it and squeezed his knee lightly, smiling.

The gravity in the room suddenly much too oppressive, Stiles dropped his head down and looked up at Derek from under his eyelashes playfully. “You know, Derek, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, you didn’t really let me finish earlier. I was ready to make a lot of demands of you.”

Sensing the change in mood, Derek grinned and removed his hand from Stiles’ knee. “Oh?”

“Oh yes. I wasn’t planning on leaving until you’d met each and every one.”

Derek huffed out a laugh. “And what kind of demands are we talking here.”

“Oh the usual- you doing exactly what I want, exactly the way I want it. I was prepared to use my most cunning devices. You were going to be begging on your knees before I was done with you.”

Derek’s eyelids dropped, his pupils dilating. “Well, who says you can’t have that now?”

Stiles could feel his heart start beating double time in his chest. He realized how close they had gravitated on the couch, his face mere inches from Derek’s. “You see, I would, but you seem to have already met all my demands.”

“Are you sure you couldn’t think of a couple more?” Derek’s breath fanned across his face. Stiles could barely suck enough oxygen in from the heady mix of their mingling breaths between them.

Stiles licked his lips, Derek following the movement. “Well, there is one thing I can think of.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles didn’t know what was giving him this extra surge of bravery that was allowing him to flirt so shamelessly with Derek. Maybe it was all of the adrenaline still leaking from his body from the earlier encounter in the woods, or a power rush from what Derek had said earlier. Most likely it was the way Derek was staring at his lips with an insatiable hunger. Whatever it was, he found the nerve to ask for what he’d been wanting ever since that morning after escaping the hunters.

“Kiss me.”

Derek wasted no time eliminating the space between them and meeting Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ mind short-circuited for a moment, too caught up in the fact that Derek had actually kissed him, _was_ kissing him, that he almost forgot how to breathe. When Derek’s hand curled possessively around his jaw, though, he jumped to reciprocate and buried both his hands in the wolf’s dark hair, pulling him closer. This kiss was nothing like the first, all fire and uncontrolled hunger where the first had been a mere brush of lips, a promise for more to come.

Stiles couldn’t control the low moan that left his mouth when Derek pushed his tongue past his lips. Derek was everywhere, everything, but Stiles couldn’t get close enough. Grunting in frustration, he threw a leg over both of Derek’s and settled fully in his lap. Derek took advantage of the new position to lick over Stiles’ jaw and down to his neck, where he began mouthing out a pretty impressive hickey. Stiles knew he should be mad- they hadn’t discussed marking and everyone would know exactly where this one had come from- but found he couldn’t care less and arched his neck farther to give Derek better access.

And as Stiles maneuvered Derek’s mouth back to his, intent on exploring every crevice of the wolf’s mouth with his tongue, he couldn’t help but do a silent fist pump of victory behind the wolf’s back. If this was the reward he got, he was going to be doing a whole lot of stupid things in the future.

***

Pulling into his driveway later that evening, Stiles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He hoped his dad wasn’t home from his shift, because if the stubble burn covering his face and neck didn’t give his earlier activities away, the damn glowing smile would. Floating up the front porch steps, he pulled his key out of his pocket, still daydreaming about the way Derek’s warm hands had sunk into his skin.

He tried to push the key into the lock, but the door creaked open without his help. Stiles frowned and leaned down to look at the lock. It had been forced. Earlier’s radiant mood quickly disappearing, Stiles cautiously swung the door the rest of the way open. The front entryway looked largely untouched from when he last saw it, though he noticed that his father’s boots and jacket were both gone. So, he wasn’t home yet at least.

Stiles dropped his bag to the porch and whipped out his cellphone, already pressing his father’s speed dial. The sheriff was already on his way home and told him to wait in the jeep for him to get there before “doing anything stupid, like going in there yourself.” Stiles huffed, but he couldn’t deny that the idea hadn’t crossed his mind.

Minutes later, the cruiser was pulling into the driveway, a worried looking sheriff quickly hauling himself out of his seat and rushing Stiles.

“You okay, son?” the sheriff inquired, patting Stiles down for injuries.

“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine.” Stiles rolled his eyes, but couldn’t begrudge his father for being worried. It was only last month he had come home littered with a sea of bruises that had only just faded away.

The sheriff’s inspection done, both men turned toward the house and the open doorway. Stiles couldn’t repress a shiver the wracked his body at the sight of his house, his _home_ , being violated like this. When the sheriff un-holstered his Glock and started for the house, Stiles trailed behind. His dad stopped in his tracks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The sheriff raised an eyebrow.

Stiles put on his best innocent face. “Gearing up to fight crime with my dear old dad?” He grimaced when his sentence came out a question instead of the firm statement he had been going for.

“Right,” his dad deadpanned. “And what were you planning on fighting with?”

Stiles froze for a second before reaching for his boot and pulling a disgruntled Harold out. He brandished the blade smugly in front of his father. “See? Totally prepared!” He attempted a fancy twirl between his fingers, but ended up dropping Harold in the attempt. Swiftly picking him up with a whispered apology, Stiles straightened again, putting on his best poker face.

_You better be sorry. That was my face._

“You don’t have a face,” Stiles grumbled.

The sheriff was still glaring at him, one eyebrow still cocked high on his forehead. Seriously, why did everyone in Stiles’ life have crazy eyebrow powers?

“Stay put.” With that his dad turned back for the house, leaving no room for argument. Stiles stood there brooding, cursing Harold for not being able to just spin like a cool talking knife.

_Dude, it’s not like I can actually move. Besides, I was crafted to tear out the throats of mine enemies, not to do little gymnastic tricks for your friends._

“Whatever, you still suck,” Stiles groused.

After waiting for what felt like millennia, the sheriff finally gave him the all clear to come inside. Stiles rushed inside, looking for signs of abuse, but everything looked exactly how he’d left it that morning.

“Nothing seems to have been taken, or even touched,” the sheriff said, brushing by him. “I’ll check the records tomorrow, but I don’t think anything like this has been happening around town- what happened to your face?”

Stiles’ hands flew to his face, confused by the sheriff’s abrupt change of topic. Then he felt how irritated his skin was and couldn’t stop the blush coloring him a dark, cherry red. “What- my face? Nothing. Nothing happened to it. What do you mean?” He tried to cover up his nervousness with a laugh, but it sounded more like a wheeze.

A knowing smirk broke across his dad’s face. “So I see you and Derek finally got it together.”

Stiles flailed uncontrollably, spluttering, “Dad, what? What made you- of course not, how could you think?” As his dad started to laugh, he resulted to the much safer activity of glaring. “Oh, I’m glad you think this is funny. Wow, cool Dad. Yeah, make fun of your son’s obvious pain.”

The sheriff continued to laugh until he abruptly sobered and leveled his son with his patented dad glare. “We will never discuss details. Ever.” And with that he promptly left the room.

Stiles stood in stunned silence, mouthing, “What the fuck?” He shook his head and decided to just turn in for the night, the events of the day finally beginning to catch up with him.

In his room, he was just about to collapse in bed when he saw a small brown chest sitting on his desk. Curious, he approached. The woodwork was intricate, tiny designs decorating the base and cover. The wood was a dark cherry and he ran an appraising hand over the smooth finish. He was just about to open it when Harold spoke up.

_Don’t you think we should call your dad in here? You had an intruder tonight, remember? What if they left this?_

“Yeah call him in so he can do the weird dad thing again? Yeah, I think not. Besides, he needs his sleep.” With that he undid the clasp on the chest and flipped the lid.

Stiles had to bite back a scream at what was laying inside. Sitting in the chest, fully intact, was a heart. A newly excavated, still bloody, human heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles woke to the sound of hushed whispering near him.

“Do you think we should put him in your bed? That can’t be comfortable,” a familiar voice said, worry evident in their tone.

“No,” a second voice murmured, pitched lower than the first. “If we wake him, he’ll only want to go back to researching.”

Stiles shifted his body, feeling sore muscles protest at his hunched-over position. His face was mushed into something hard that smelled faintly of ink. A book, perhaps? Stiles wasn’t really sure where he was, but he wasn’t too worried. The voices brought with them a sense of safety and familiarity, so there was no real hurry to move.

Though they had paused when he started fidgeting, the voices resumed their conversation, albeit a tad quieter, after he settled more fully into his position.

“Why is he throwing himself so hard into this? He doesn’t usually get this worked up over researching a new creature.”

The lower-pitched voice sighed. “He’s thinking about what would have happened if his dad had been home. It could have hurt him and Stiles wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to stop it. He won’t rest until he’s found out what this thing is and how to kill it.”

Stiles mind had been lazily floating in and out of consciousness until the voice had mentioned his father, but everything suddenly came rushing back: the discovery of the heart, the frantic call to the pack to search the house, and the blurring days of research in between then and the present moment. The wolves had picked up on the scent of the creature that had been stealing organs from graves around town in Stiles’ room, but they hadn’t been able to trace it past the house. Since then, Stiles hadn’t moved an inch from his nook tucked away in Derek’s loft, tirelessly pouring over archaic texts.

Stiles hoped his heart hadn’t started beating double-time with the sudden influx of unadulterated rage he felt toward the creature. It wasn’t enough that the thing had essentially warned that it would tear Stiles’ heart out if he found it; it had shown how easily it could hurt his dad, too. The second voice, which Stiles now recognized belonged to Derek, was right: Stiles was going to find this thing and kill it before it could come anywhere near his dad ever again. And if that meant researching himself into a self-inflicted coma, so be it.

“I just don’t like seeing him like this.” His reverie was interrupted by a low whine. Isaac. Stiles almost sat up to comfort the wolf, but he didn’t want to be dragged to a bed and away from his research.

“He’ll be fine, Isaac. Stiles always takes care of himself in the end.”

“Yeah, I know. I just…” Seriously, the kid was breaking Stiles heart. Again.

“I know,” Derek murmured consolingly. Stiles heard what sounded like affectionate pats to the back between the two, and felt so proud of the progress Derek had made with his pack he almost had some manly sniffles. “Why don’t you try for some sleep. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time helping him research. He’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Hesitant footsteps padded out of the room and then it was silent. Isaac must have left for his room upstairs, because Stiles heard the alpha sigh and come closer to him. He remained still.

“Stiles,” Derek said, amusement clear in his tone. “Might want to reconsider that acting career.” Stiles couldn’t hold back his snort, though he didn’t raise his head from the table. “I’m going to let you stay here for now, but only if you get some more sleep sometime today.” Stiles cursed Derek and the ease with which he could hide an order in a reasonable request. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep your dad safe, Stiles. You’re not alone in this.”

It was still for a moment before Stiles felt a warm hand pass fleetingly over his head. Stiles felt a shiver prickle up his spine and, just like that, Derek’s presence was gone. Sitting up and sighing, Stiles looked down at the mound of research he had to start digging into and found that there was also a sandwich and a bag of chips beside his elbow. Stiles glanced toward the spiral staircase and back to his plate, a tired smile ghosting across his face, before shoving a handful of Cheetos in his mouth and cracking open a new book.

***

Several hours later finds the pack gathered together to figure out their next move. Stiles had curled himself up in an armchair positioned slightly away from the rest, trying to stick to the sidelines of the conversation. He’d realized that he’d had too little sleep and too much of an interest in the problem to make a rational decision at this point and had resolved himself to sit this one out unless they really needed him. Which was proving a lot harder than he’d expected.

Allison was glaring in Erica’s direction. “We can’t forget about the threat from the hunters just because there’s something digging up some graves. Our efforts would be better spent learning their weaknesses than searching for a creature we’re not even sure is hostile.”

“Not hostile?” Erica looked outraged. “The thing broke into Stiles’ house and left him a fucking heart, Allison! How can you tell me that’s not hostile? We need to hunt it down before it actually hurts someone.”

Allison looked like she had to restrain herself from jumping to her feet. “The creature is nothing compared to the Declans! My family knows them- they’re ruthless. If we don’t’ attack them first-”

“Whoa,” Danny interrupted, throwing his hands up in a placating gesture. “Who said anything about attacking? We are nowhere near ready for that.”

“Really, Allison, I think we can protect ourselves from a couple of hunters.” Erica’s grin turned so malicious she looked feral. “Just look at the way we handled your family.”

Allison flew to her feet before Scott grabbed her arm, restraining her. Erica looked like she was going to say more, but was silenced by a firm “Enough, Erica” from Derek. Allison shoved a hurt looking Scott off her arm, glaring at Erica, but eventually sank back into her seat. Stiles stared warily between the two girls, hoping that they could at least keep it together for the rest of the meeting- he really didn’t want to have to play peacemaker today.

“Maybe we should split our resources in half,” Lydia spoke before the atmosphere could become too tense. “Some of us could focus on the hunters and the rest on trapping the creature.”

Isaac snorted. “Yeah, because splitting up worked out so well last time.” Stiles felt some guilty looks shot his way and he fervently wished he hadn’t become associated with “last time.” It was getting old.

“Well, what do you suggest we do then, Isaac?” Lydia never was one to have her ideas questioned. Isaac merely shrugged, his face closed off.

“What do you think we should do, Stilinksi? You’re being aberrantly quiet.” Stiles swung his gaze from its examination of the spider web fissures in the ceiling to Jackson. He blinked owlishly at him, not used to being directly addressed by the boy without some kind of insult attached to it. He quickly collected himself and grinned smarmily at Jackson.

“Wow, Jacks, aberrantly? Someone’s been studying their SAT Prep book.” At Jackson’s glare he continued a little more seriously. “Sorry guys, I’m not really in a position to give an objective opinion at this point.”

“But you’ve dealt with both.” Scott piped up from beside Allison. “You know better than all of us which is more of a threat.”

Stiles hesitated, glancing over at Derek. The wolf’s eyes were boring into his own, waiting for his input, and he was reminded of what Derek had said the day he’d come home to find the heart. His memory of what had happened before all the kissing was a bit hazy around the edges, but what Derek had told him was clear as day in Stiles’ mind. Derek had said he trusted him. Stiles knew he’d already instinctively understood that Derek had to have more trust in him than the others in the pack, but hearing it directly from the older man had cemented it in Stiles’ awareness. What was more, Stiles trusted Derek, and if he thought Stiles could make a clear decision right now, then Stiles believed him. He drew in a deep breath, turning back to Scott.

“The more pressing danger is the creature. We may have a responsibility to the Fulton pack, but we have a larger one to Beacon Hills and to ourselves. I don’t know about you guys, but if someone in the pack or in town got hurt because we were too preoccupied with hunters whose beef is not even really with us, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

Danny nodded. “I agree with Stiles. We don’t know what this thing is capable of, but we shouldn’t just let it run rampant until we find out.” His statement was followed by general agreement from the pack.

“Well, that’s settled then-” Jackson’s affirmation was interrupted by Allison springing to her feet and storming out of the room, her heels clicking severely across the hardwood. A harsh slam from the door marked her exit, and then it was silent. Stiles unfolded himself from his seat to go after her, but Scott beat him to it, already halfway out the door. Stiles sighed and slumped into himself, exhausted from the whole ordeal.

“Well, that went well,” Boyd deadpanned, breaking the silence and earning a couple of chuckles. Boyd looked uncomfortable with all eyes turned to him, but the awkward tension had broken with his words.

Derek cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention there. “We can’t wait for Scott and Allison to return to make plans. If we’re doing this, we’re starting now.” At the pack’s nods of approval, he continued. “Erica, Isaac, Jackson. You three make a round of the cemeteries in town; the thing has probably had to have eaten since we last checked and now we have its scent.” The betas nodded and rushed out the building while Derek turned to those left in the room. “Lydia, Danny, I want you two to make a list of bodies that have been disturbed. If there’s a pattern, I want you to find it. Boyd,” he turned to the last beta. “Talk with Argent. Find Scott if it would make you more comfortable. I don’t know if he has the same feelings as his daughter, but we might need his help before this is over.”

Once the room had cleared, Derek turned to a grinning Stiles. “Pretty nice job you did back there, Alpha.” Stiles’ smirk grew as Derek blushed. “I’m still awaiting _my_ orders, though.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek said, rolling his eyes, but Stiles could see the blush extend down his neck. The wolf stalked forward, grabbing a flailing Stiles and pulling him out the door.

“Um, are we going somewhere?” Stiles inquired, still trying to pull his sleeve from the wolf’s grasp. “Because as much as I love being manhandled by you, I’ve still got a lot of research to do.”

“You’re taking a break,” Derek simply said, dragging Stiles out of the building and towards the Camaro. He opened the passenger side door for Stiles and gestured for him to get in.

Stiles jolted to a stop and crossed his arms. “No way, man. I’m not letting you distract me. I have things to do. You’re probably just using this as an excuse to kidnap and have your wolfy way with me. Nope, not falling for it.” He ended his statement with an upturned nose and a dainty sniff.

“Oh?” Derek queried, eyebrows rising up his forehead. “Then I guess you wouldn’t want to go to Josephine’s?” Stiles’ eyes narrowed at the mention of his favorite diner. Derek was playing dirty. At Stile’s continued hesitance, Derek shrugged and meandered to the driver’s side. “I guess I’ll just have to buy _myself_ curly fries and a milk shake.” And with that he gracefully lowered himself into the car and shut the door.

Stiles only had to stand there debating with himself for a total of three seconds before he tossed his hands in the air and stomped over to the Camaro. He threw himself into the passenger’s side and adamantly avoided looking at Derek’s pleased smirk, instead resolutely pouting out the windshield.

“Now, was that so hard?” Stiles felt his jaw tighten and he had to focus on not punching the werewolf in his stupid, pretty face. Derek just lightly chuckled and pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive to the diner was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Despite himself, Stiles found it oddly soothing and he couldn’t help but relax into the leather seat. At this time in the afternoon, Beacon Hills was caught in that summertime haze where everything looked like it belonged in a fifties movie. The smells of freshly mown grass and sweet summer breeze were making him nostalgic and Stiles couldn’t help but smile at the predictability of Mr. Sanchez watering his Azalea bushes with the evening paper tucked under his arm. Stiles waved to him and had to snicker when Mr. Sanchez turned around and started yelling profanities toward the car. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that Mrs. McCall’s favorite flowers were Azuela’s and that some always seemed to conveniently go missing from Mr. Sanchez’s bushes right around the time they’d pop up on her desk. Stiles noticed Derek smiling at him, but he wasn’t about to admit that the change of space was helping to clear his mind. Derek was cocky enough as it was.

When they arrived to the diner, Derek held the door open for him, sardonically playing the part of a gentleman. Stiles snorted, but followed Derek to a booth near the back. It was only when they were sitting down and had ordered that Stiles realized what this was.

“Derek Anthony Hale.” The wolf’s eyes snapped up at the use of his middle name. “Is kidnapping me and seducing me with my favorite foods your sick idea of a date?”

Derek looked frozen for a moment, that adorable blush climbing up his neck again. Stiles floundered in his seat before half standing out of his seat and pointing accusingly at Derek. “It is! You totally took me on a date! Oh my God, I don’t know if I can even deal with this. You took me to my favorite place, you held the door, you bought me _curly fries_!” Stiles fell back into his seat, completely dumbfounded.

Derek’s blush was out of control now and the wolf looked ready to bolt. “You had to get out of that nook. And eat. You’d been there for days. I just thought…” He looked so uncomfortable that Stiles could only laugh and then surge across the table to give Derek a quick peck on the lips.

“It’s nice.” Stiles huffed out a breathy chuckle and then looked back up at Derek. “I like it.”

A small smile graced Derek’s features and Stiles couldn’t help but return it. When the food arrived, neither of them again mentioned the date, but it was far from quiet. Derek was a closet reality TV show addict, and Stiles loved to tease him for it. Stiles couldn’t rag on him too much, though- he’d been the one to introduce Derek to his favorite shows last summer. They argued over which teen mom was doing the best job with their kid and which housewife was the most insane (“Ramona has crazy eyes, Derek. Crazy eyes!”) until all of their food was gone, and even then, neither could think of a reason to leave. Eventually the talk died down and they reached a point where they were both silent, just taking in the other’s presence.

Looking at the dorky, beautiful man before him, Stiles was overwhelmed with an emotion he couldn’t identify. It was completely different than anything he’d ever experienced before, but also strangely familiar, almost as if it was just a continuation of something he'd had already understood for a long time. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky to even have this moment, but he knew he’d never take what he’d been so carefully gifted for granted. Stiles knew he was young, still just a high school student, but what he felt for Derek was real, not the childish fantasy he’d held for Lydia or the mere lust he’d harbored for Danny. He knew that people changed as they grew up, but he couldn’t imagine feeling any differently about the wolf when he was forty than he already did now. And right now Stiles loved Derek.

Wait, Stiles paused. He’d just said he loved Derek. His eyes widened.

He loved Derek.

 _Fuck_.

Derek’s head cocked at Stiles in concern. “Stiles, your heart rate just went through the roof. What's wrong?”

Stiles was gearing up to say something, _anything_ other than the feeling that was bubbling through his body at an alarming rate, when the air was suddenly ripped apart by an earth-shattering howl. The patrons all turned to the windows with fear, but Stiles felt his heart stop. He was already out of his seat and running before he registered that Derek was beside him, directing him to the Camaro. Sliding in, Stiles couldn’t breathe for the panic choking up his windpipe.

He’d heard all the wolves howl at some point, come to be able to distinguish an individual in the unique tones, and this one? This one was Isaac.

And he was in pain.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such a glutton for drama.

As the Camaro ripped down street after street on its way to the source of the howl, Stiles found he couldn’t concentrate on the scenery blurring by. He was in overdrive thinking of all the things that could have happened to cause Isaac that much pain.

Isaac, _Isaac_ , his mind was screaming, who’d only just started opening himself up to trust, who was still far more fragile and broken than his cool demeanor ever let on, who still sometimes had night-terrors so intense he woke up crying silently into Stiles’ pillow, not even Stiles’ comforting hands bringing him any solace. Stiles had always hoped that he’d be able to protect Isaac from the monsters that seemed to be drawn to Beacon Hills in the way he’d never been able to protect him from those from his past. But despite this, Isaac was still out there in pain because Stiles hadn’t been with him, had been on a _date_ for God’s sake. His throat closed up, his vision blurring, as he choked on the guilt.

He must have let a small noise of distress escape, because suddenly there was a hand on his knee, offering strength and security in its weight. Stiles didn’t want the comfort when it was exactly what he was denying Isaac, but he couldn’t find the strength to shake off the heat when it was already working to calm him enough that he could breathe again. He didn’t acknowledge the wolf’s consolation, but he also didn’t push it away either and he hoped that Derek understood that was all he could give him right now.

When Derek stopped the car, Stiles almost coughed out a bitter laugh. Of course it would be the cemetery, another acrimonious reminder of Isaac’s past. He didn’t take long to ponder it, though, and was already halfway up the hill to where the sounds of a battle were drifting from before realizing that he didn’t know where Derek was anymore. He dismissed the thought, knowing Derek could take care of himself, and finally breasted the top of the hill.

It was hunters- God, it was probably the Declans- and he had to hold back on a frustrated scream because the universe wasn’t fair. He picked out Erica and Jackson from the crowd easily, both facing down several hunters each, though they looked ragged and run-down like they’d been fighting for a while. Scott and Boyd must have heard Isaac’s call, too, because they were both in the fray looking fresher than the other betas. Stiles still didn’t see Derek, but he promptly forgot all else when he spotted Isaac.

There were only three men sparring with him, but Isaac was in no shape to even face one. He was favoring his left leg and a giant gaping hole in his side led Stiles to believe he’d been shot with a shotgun at close range. This didn’t stop him from swiping ferociously at the hunters around him, though, face drawn and sallow with the way the exertion pulled on his flank.

Isaac managed to sink his claws briefly into the arm of one of the hunters, but Stiles saw the hunter’s move for what it was: a distraction. As soon as the other man behind Isaac drew his pistol, Stiles’ vision blanked out in a white-hot rage, scorching almost as hot as it did when Cullen had tried to kill Derek last month.

Harold was already in the hunter’s chest and Stiles’ hand around his throat before he could register how he’d got there. The hunter’s face was hard and stoic, but his eyes exposed his sheer panic; he looked as if he was about to say something, perhaps beg for his life, but Stiles wasn’t having it. Ripping Harold from the wound, he made a quick slash across the man’s jugular and dropped him to the ground before he could get a word out. He felt more than heard Harold’s conscious twine with his own, calling for more carnage and blood from these people who dared hurt their own. Gripping his blade tighter in his hand, he rounded on the second hunter, leaving the first to choke on his own blood.

This guy looked a little more prepared, already swinging his arm around in a punch, but Stiles ducked it and used the momentum to push Harold up into the man’s gut. He jerked his arm horizontally, letting the knife tear a huge gash in the man’s lower stomach. Stiles disinterestedly watched him fall like the hunter before him, but this time Harold was sucked out of his blood-coated hand, still embedded in the man’s intestines.

Stiles glanced up to find the last hunter grinning and advancing on Isaac, crossbow glinting dangerously in his hands. Isaac was sprawled across the ground below him, his face strong despite the severity of his wound, but looking almost resigned to his fate. This, more than anything, caused Stiles to charge at the hunter, teeth barred in a snarl. The man’s eyes widened when he saw Stiles and he swung his bow up, aiming right at Stiles’ heart. Stiles parried it to the side with his arm, mindless to the sting, and tackled him to the ground. They both grappled uselessly with each other, the bow trapped between their bodies, until Stiles slammed an elbow into the side of his head, stunning him. Without the man’s squirming, Stiles wrapped both hands around his head and jerked it to the side with a grizzly snap.

He’d barely even glanced into the man’s lifeless eyes before scrambling over to Isaac, who was panting weakly on the grass now that the threat was absent. A steady stream of Isaac’s name and comforting words spewed from Stiles’ mouth as he reached to cup Isaac’s jaw with both blood-washed hands, the younger boy’s face a canvas for Stiles’ macabre finger-painting.

The wolf’s lashes fluttered weakly and he shakily breathed out “Stiles.” The tension in his body seemed to give way to relief, and he sank into Stiles’ embrace.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Stiles whispered, cradling the other boy to his chest. “I’ve got you now, buddy. I’ve got you.”

He began gently petting back Isaac’s curls while he tried to get a good look at the ugly wound on his side. It was a good sized hole, but Stiles was less concerned with the superficial gash as he was with the internal damage. Blood was continually leaking down his side, so Stiles firmly pressed into the wound, trying to staunch the flow.

The sounds of the fight around them had gradually died down and he felt Erica sidle in beside him. One of her hands joined his in pressing over Isaac’s wound, the other grabbing for her fellow beta’s hand and squeezing gently.

“They ambushed us,” she said lowly. “Came firing out of the woods like a fucking cliché.”

“Declan men?”

Her curls tickled his face as she shrugged. She returned her attention to the boy in front of them. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

“He will be.” Stiles was glad his voice sounded a lot more confident than he felt. “It probably hurts like hell, but he’ll heal.” He was interrupted when Derek suddenly appeared and crouched down on the other side of Isaac. The alpha spared a glance up at both Stiles and Erica, checking for injuries, before turning his full attention to Isaac.

The older man didn’t look like he had just participated in a fight to the death with werewolf hating vigilantes. The only sign that he’d even been there was a small splatter of blood on the sharp jut of one of his cheekbones. He was looking down at Isaac with such open devotion and concern that Stiles felt invasive as a third party. Just a couple of months ago and Derek wouldn’t have been caught dead showing his emotion so openly like this. It really said a lot about pack bonds and Derek’s progression as a person that he felt comfortable displaying this depth of feeling in front of them.

When he gently rested a hand on the side of Isaac’s throat and started leeching his pain, Stiles had to hold back a pleased smile; when Isaac cracked open his eyes and smiled reverently, if not weakly, at his alpha, Stiles almost _really_ lost it and had to divert his eyes.

“We should get him home,” Stiles said, drawing Derek’s attention up.

Derek nodded and gently pulled Isaac into his arms, standing. Stiles rose with them, trying to keep in contact, but quickly stepped back when Derek lifted an eyebrow his way. Derek then addressed the rest of the pack who had gathered around them. “I’ll drive him to the house. The rest of you need to get there too. Call the others, even Allison- I want us all together tonight.” He turned to Stiles. “You’ll need to call the sheriff. He has to know about this and we need to come up with a cover story for the bodies.”

“I want to stay with him,” Stiles quickly interjected, gesturing to Isaac. “I swear I’ll call my dad in the car and take care of it. I just have to…” He wavered, not knowing how to express that he couldn’t be away from Isaac now, especially as the adrenaline was wearing off and he could feel self-doubt and guilt begin to edge in.

Derek seemed to understand, though, because he gave a small nod of his head and then started toward the Camaro. Stiles followed, eyes downcast and feeling bone-weary. When he climbed into the backseat of the car, Stiles cradled Isaac’s head in his lap, brushing back his curls and whispering soothing words. It was a good thing this night was proving to be everlasting, because Stiles found himself dreading what was waiting for him at the end.

***

Stiles had to drag himself up the stairs of the Hale house, muscles protesting with each step. He staggered down the hallway, not really caring where he ended up, as long as it was where the rest couldn’t see him in the inevitable breakdown that was coming. Stumbling into the first room he found, he gently closed the door and slumped against it, face pressed into the cool, dark-stained wood.

Isaac was downstairs, having finally fallen into a restless sleep under Stiles’ careful caresses and gentle words. Stiles was glad he was getting the rest he so desperately needed to heal, but he mourned the loss of the distraction taking care of Isaac had provided. The rest of the pack was in varying states of slumber themselves, all weary from the earlier fight, so they didn’t offer any means of diversion either. He was still amped up from the adrenaline rush, his mind ticking listlessly over the events of the night, and for the moment he was alone with his thoughts.

He’d known it was going to come, but that didn’t make the wave of guilt and insecurity that hit him any easier to handle.

God, he’d been so stupid. He _knew_ that he shouldn’t have spoken up at the meeting, had known he was too invested in finding the creature to give a damn about the hunters. He’d been so blinded by his need to protect his dad (and, in turn, himself- Stiles knew that deep down, he couldn’t lose another parent, refused to) that he’d completely ignored another threat to his pack. Sure, no one was hurt past the point where they couldn’t heal, but that didn’t make their pain any less real. A shotgun shell had completely sheared through Isaac’s stomach, for fuck’s sake! But he hadn’t been thinking of that earlier. All it had taken was a look, a fucking _look_ , from Derek and he was ready to forgo his hesitations, say pretty much anything to keep that promise of trust in hazel eyes that had seen so much betrayal.

He pushed further into the door, grinding his teeth so hard he knew he’d have a headache later. The way he had felt when Derek had looked to him for his opinion earlier had been incredible, euphoric almost. It was the first time in a long time that he’d thought of himself as someone whose opinion mattered, who was wanted, _needed_. And Stiles needed to feel needed, felt its siren-call in his bones, had ever since his mother had died and left him to practically raise his father himself. He’d taken the feeling and ran with it, not concerned whatsoever for the rest of the pack, the pack he was supposed to be _protecting_.

Somewhere in his brain, he realized that he was moving, but didn’t really care enough to focus on where. The worst part of all of this, other than the overwhelming guilt, was that he knew subjectively that it wasn’t his fault- that he was being a drama queen if he thought he could really bring about this much damage and hurt so many people with one decision- but that didn’t serve to stop the thoughts from bubbling up from his core and dragging him down into the sludge of his own culpability. It was like a sickness, a debilitating weakness that forced him to relive his past actions, never being able to fully wash the blood from his hands.

Hands, he noted, that still itched with the long-gone blood of the hunters. He’d already cleaned his hands at least twice already, scrubbing at the skin until it was raw and stinging, but he could still feel the phantom slide of the blood between his fingers, the flaking itch of it beneath his fingernails, and he wanted it off, away, _gone_.

He’d always known on some conscious level that he sometimes lost himself to the blood when one of his own was threatened, but knowing was different than seeing the fear of it reflected in his best friend’s eyes when he’d seen the mutilated remains of the hunters Stiles’ had fought. It had only lasted a second, a blink of an eye, but the abject horror in Scott’s expression had been enough for Stiles to recognize that his friend had finally understood him for the monster he could be. Stiles hated what blood brought out in him, the fierce carnal rage to protect it invoked, but knew he wouldn’t give up the ferocity it induced, not if it meant saving any one of the pack members’ lives.

And wasn’t that what made this worse? That he’d willingly take lives, accept the never-ending layers of blood on his hands, if it meant he didn’t have to lose another person in his life. It was selfish, so selfish, but he’d do it over and over, feel blood run down his hands time after time, never fully be able to wash it off, wash it off, _just wash it off already_ -

He dimly realized that he was braced against a sink, constricted sobs silently racking his body, trying to push his flayed, bright red hands back into the basin where he had been lathering them restlessly. There were other, warm hands wrapped around his wrists, though, and no matter how hard he tugged, they wouldn’t yield. Stiles hazily peered up into the mirror above the sink and almost barking out a crazed giggle at what he saw. He didn’t know what perverse humor the universe saw in Derek Hale comforting a half-hysterical Stiles Stilinksi in front of a mirror, but it had happened twice now and the joke was getting a little tired in Stiles’ opinion.

Derek turned Stiles around in his hold, snaking his arms around him and crushing him to his chest. Stiles just full-out wept, because really, it couldn’t possibly get any worse at this point. Derek was so warm and real, and Stiles knew in the slope of his shoulders that he understood exactly what had Stiles bawling into his shirt collar. After all, Derek knew his fair share of guilt, even if it was erroneously placed.

He was still wringing his hands together between their bodies, but Derek grabbed and stilled them. Gently pulling back, he peered into Stiles’ face. He must have decided something from what he saw there, because he sighed and then slid Stiles’ shirt over his shoulders. He began removing the rest of his clothes too and Stiles internally panicked, because seriously, what? But Derek continued on until they were both undressed and ushered him into the already running, warm shower. Stiles fuzzily realized that he must have been losing time, because he didn’t remember Derek stopping to get the water ready.

But then Derek’s hands were caressing along his body, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Derek lathered soap down his chest and arms, keeping his movements slow and careful to avoid his raw hands. There wasn’t anything sensual about the actions, just comfort and concern in every swipe of his hands, and Stiles wanted to cry at how gentle Derek was being. Stiles closed his eyes, content to let the hunters’ blood stream down his body and into the drain, at least a portion of his anxiety with it.

Derek was quiet, quieter than he had been in a long time, but Stiles appreciated the silence. He didn’t think he could handle words of comfort or solace right now- they would just fall flat and bitter on his ears. Besides, Derek’s touch was doing more to ease the whirling of his mind than anything he’d ever tried before. It felt like a drug, the way Derek’s presence worked on him, and he was too tired to be wary of that like he should be. For now, he just leaned into the wolf’s shoulder, letting Derek take care of him in the way they both needed.

When he opened his eyes again, Derek was digging clothing out of some drawers for himself, Stiles already dressed in cotton pants and a soft, ratty Beacon Hills Basketball shirt. Fully clothed, Derek turned and led Stiles over to the bed (Derek’s bed, his brain helpfully supplied) and helped him slip into the sheets. The wolf slid in behind him, tucking Stiles into his chest, and Stiles let out a ragged breath. He didn’t feel good- you don’t get rid of the kind of guilt and self-doubt Stiles' carried around in one night- but he felt better. Squirming his way further into Derek’s embrace, he deflated, feeling the weight of the blood on his hands a little less than he had before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some disgustingly adorable fluff to make up for the intense and plotty last couple of chapters! *throws fluff at you and then face-plants into bed.

Stiles came to slowly, following the call of a strange thumping in his ear. He tried to push himself up and look around, but strong arms pulled tighter around his waist, barring him from moving. Stiles felt safe in those arms, so he didn’t really worry too much about not being able to move, and when he turned his head and brushed against a stubbled jaw, he relaxed even further.

After taking a couple of minutes to revel in the warmth of Derek’s embrace the way he hadn’t been able to the previous night, he blearily cracked an eye open. His face was smushed into Derek’s chest and he realized that the thumping sound that had woken him was the steady sound of the wolf’s heart beating under his ear.

Looking up, Stiles felt something pull low in his gut. Derek’s face was washed in sunlight, his features thrown in stark relief against the backdrop of his dark hair. Stiles had always known that objectively, Derek was hot. Like _burning,_ his brain helpfully supplied. The guy’s muscles had muscles and Stiles had more than once caught other members of the pack staring brazenly at Derek’s sweaty chest when the wolf would rip off his shirt during trainings.

But looking at him now in this warm place they’d found, Derek’s features loose and open in sleep, Stiles realized he was beautiful. And not just in the way that he had been born with a pretty face, but in the way his eyes looked ready to crinkle at the edges in pride for his pack or how his mouth could easily turn up into a small smile, like the one he would sometimes wear just for Stiles. He was beautiful because of what he did, not who he’d been born as, and it made Stiles ache to see him like this, so different than when they’d first met.

Before he could embarrassingly wax poetic about any more of Derek’s face, the wolf pushed a hand over Stiles’ eyes, mumbling “Stop staring. It’s weird.”

Stiles barked out a small laugh. “Ah, how the tables have turned. How’s it feel to be creeped on, Mr. Creeper?”

Stiles could see Derek fighting off a smile, his face pressing deeper into his pillow. “’m not the creeper, you are.”

“Wow Derek, your morning comeback game is inspiring. Peewee Herman would’ve been proud of that one,” Stiles teased, one of his hands moving to poke Derek in the stomach.

Derek grumbled and snaked one of his arms up to pinch Stiles in the side. Stiles flailed, trying to pull himself from Derek’s formidable hold. “You monster! This is domestic abuse, I tell you! I’m calling the sheriff!” He was interrupted by Derek rolling on top of him, pinning Stiles’ hands between them.

“Stop moving,” he grumbled, tucking his face into the hollow of Stiles’ neck. “And don’t talk about your dad while in my bed.”

Stiles laughed. “Then what should I talk about?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep.” But Derek was already beginning to lick and nibble at the patch of skin his mouth was pressed against.

“Uh, that’s probably not going to happen,” Stiles said, voice catching at every touch of the older man’s tongue to his neck. He reached a hand up to push it through the back of Derek’s hair and kept it there, holding Derek’s mouth on him.

Derek steadily moved his mouth up Stiles’ neck, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. When he finally reached Stiles’ mouth, he lingered above it, his breath ghosting across the younger boy’s lips. Stiles had to close his eyes against the image of Derek’s half-lidded ones, letting loose a shuddering breath when Derek leaned in closer.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Go to sleep.” And then the warm body that had been covering his was gone, cold air replacing it. Stiles turned in bewilderment to see Derek on his side, facing away from him, comforter pulled up to his ear.

“Oh, _hell_ no!” Stiles scrambled onto Derek’s back, trying to turn him over. “Get back up here and kiss me, you bastard!” Derek just buried himself further under the covers, body shaking in what was probably laughter. “You teasing teaser! You know what, I’m done. Forget your morning cuddles, Derek, because I’m leaving!”

He was balancing himself precariously on the edge of the bed, trying to find the footing to get down, when suddenly the comforter was lifted up and Stiles was pulled through the opening and into a warm chest, Derek’s vice-like grip surrounding him again. Derek nuzzled into the back of Stiles’ neck, one leg coming to rest on top of both of his.

“No leaving,” Derek mumbled into Stiles’ hair.

“You know, you are giving me some real mixed signals here, buddy,” Stiles groused, but settled into the wolf’s grip easily enough. It was warm, here in Derek’s little cocoon with the man wrapped around him like a sleepy koala, and despite his better judgment, he began to feel sleepy again himself. He was fighting the heavy slide of his eyelids, but something was niggling at the back of his mind, and he had to get it out before he could completely relax.

“About last night,” he started. “I wanted to apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Derek’s mouth moved against the back of his neck.

Stiles sighed. “I’ve kind of been a hot, emotive mess lately, Derek. I’ve been getting my nasty, emotional juice all over you and I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that.”

Derek huffed. “Your what?”

“Emotional juice. All over you.”

“I can deal with your emotional juice, Stiles.”

“It sounds wrong when you say it.”

Derek chuckled again, turning Stiles around until they were facing each other, nose to nose. “I mean it, though,” he said, serious now. “You don’t have to deal with things alone, Stiles. There’s the pack, your dad, Melissa. Me. You’re always so busy taking care of us- you have to let us do the same for you.” He looked so earnest, Stiles had to smile and give a small nod. Derek returned them both and finished with a kiss on the nose, causing Stiles to smirk mischievously.

“About where we were earlier,” he drawled, eyes on the wolf’s lips. Derek chuckled lightly, muttering “Insatiable”, but obligingly leaned down and captured Stiles’ top lip with his own. Despite the morning breath, it was bliss to have Derek like this again, everything soft and slow, just a drag of lips against each other. Even after Stiles traced the seam of Derek’s lips with his tongue and Derek opened up for him without hesitation, it was just an indulgent exploration. They traded slow, sweet kisses until, after one last pull on Derek’s bottom lip, Stiles rested his forehead against the older man’s, smiling. “Mmmm, that was nice.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t keep the smile off his lips. “Just nice?”

“Wow, someone’s getting cocky.” Derek’s other eyebrow joined the first and Stiles blushed. “Jesus Christ, Derek, and everyone thinks _I’m_ the one with a dirty mind.”

Derek just hummed and trailed blunt nails down Stiles’ side, goose bumps rising under his shirt in their wake. “’m just saying, we could try for something better than just nice.” His hand reached the hem of Stiles’ shirt and slipped below it, traveling teasingly up the bare skin covering his spine.

Stiles shivered at the touch and shifted hooded eyes to stare at Derek’s mouth again. “What did you have in mind?” Derek’s predatory grin was interrupted by a banging on the door.

“Stiles! We need you downstairs _now_!”

Stiles growled at the interruption as Derek dropped his forehead to Stiles’ chest with a groan of frustration. “Kinda busy here,” he yelled back.

Lydia’s growl through the door was much more impressive than his. “You and Derek can stop fondling each other long enough to take care of your stupid betas. I’ve been trying to watch my shows all morning and there will be hell to pay if I don’t get my daily hit of _Dexter_ before noon.” Stiles heard her give one last huff and then click her way down the hallway.

He groaned, annoyed that his friends were effectively cock-blocking him. “Who even thought it would be a good idea to let Lydia watch a show about a genius serial killer? It’ll give her ideas.” Derek snorted into his collarbone and Stiles slid his hands into his dark hair. “I hope they realize I’m not coming down there. I’ve been waiting a long time for this- they can deal on their own. What are they even fighting about?”

Derek pressed a sloppy kiss into the hollow of his throat. “Erica and Allison are getting into it again.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and then gasped when Derek bit down gently on his collarbone. “I should have known. About what?”

“Hair dye, of all things.” Derek sighed, licking soothingly at the place he’d bit down on. “And now Scott’s trying to pressure Isaac into making pancakes.”

Stiles shot up, thoroughly ruining the blanket fort they had going on. “Isaac’s awake?” Derek groaned as Stiles rolled off the bed and ran to the door. He was halfway down the hallway before he could hear Derek telling him not to trip on his way down the stairs.

“Fuck you, I’m totally capable of navigating common household structures by myself!” he yelled back, grimacing when his foot missed the first step and he had to grab the railing to steady himself. Derek’s laughter trailed after him, but he ignored it in favor of rushing into the living room.

Everyone was smirking knowingly at him when he slid into the room in his socks and he vehemently cursed werewolf hearing as they’d probably heard everything. He took a moment to be glad he hadn’t stayed with Derek, because no telling what they would have heard then. His eyes scanned the room and landed on Isaac, who was smiling shyly at him, and he launched himself across the room and nearly knocked the other boy down in his haste. Isaac laughed as Stiles’ arms came around his waist and he leaned into Stiles’ embrace.

Stiles quickly pulled back and scanned the taller boy up and down. “Are you feeling better? All rested up?” He started to push Isaac’s shirt up to check his side, but his hand was swatted away.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Isaac said fondly. “You can stop worrying.”

“Isaac Lahey, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Isaac just snorted, but he didn’t push Stiles off, making him think that he wanted the contact just as much. He was interrupted by an annoyed whine behind him.

“Stiiiiilesssss,” Scott pouted. “Isaac won’t make me pancakes and I’m huungggry!”

Stiles saw Boyd raise one thick eyebrow, a trick he’d undoubtedly learned from a certain broody werwolf. “Isaac also spent all night healing a giant hole in his body. Cut him some slack, Scott.”

Scott just put on his best puppy eyes in retaliation. “But I’m hungry!” he repeated, turning his pleading gaze over to Stiles. “I had to heal last night too!”

Stiles sighed. “Fine, I’ll make some pancakes.” A cheer went up around him, including one from Isaac, and he realized he’d been conned. “Oh, you all suck. See if I make your pancakes _now_!”

Several minutes later found him whipping out four different types of batter to meet all the different tastes in the pack, muttering to himself about stupid, conniving werewolves. Strong arms quickly circled his waist. “I wouldn’t say we’re all conniving,” a voice growled playfully into his ear.

Stiles leaned back into the wall of heat behind him, grinning. “I don’t know, you did lure me into your bed last night and wouldn’t let me leave this morning. Sounds pretty conniving to me.”

“And you’d still be there if I had any say.” Stiles’ laugh turned into a moan when Derek bit his ear lobe. “I wasn’t finished with you.”

“Oh my God, seriously? The food is right there, you’re probably getting all kinds of STD’s in it.”

Stiles and Derek both turned to see Lydia scowling in the doorway, Erica giving them a thumbs up behind her. Stiles just rolled his eyes and turned back around, just in time to see Derek snatch some chocolate chips from a bag and disappear into the living room.

“I saw that, you conniving little shit!” Stiles yelled after him, shaking his spatula disapprovingly and getting batter everywhere.

The rest of the morning was spent in much the same way, everyone squabbling good-naturedly and consuming copious amounts of food (because hello, werewolves). Stiles only had to break up three fights between Allison and Erica, and surprisingly no one even lost any hair extensions (a common occurrence between those two). By noon, everyone was tired enough from the previous night’s activities to admit it was time to sleep, piling haphazardly in the den to marathon the _Back to the Future_ movies. They’d only made it to the part where Marty was sent to the 50’s before almost everyone but Stiles, Scott and Derek had fallen asleep. Stiles didn’t really mind though; tucked under Derek’s arm and Isaac’s head in his lap, he was finally feeling good for the first time since he’d found the heart in his room.

They weren’t out of danger yet, not even close really, but it was nice to take a night off from worrying and just spend it with family. His disturbing, dysfunctional family, he thought fondly, watching Erica use Jackson’s butt for a pillow and Scott try to worm his way closer to Allison’s side by rolling over Boyd.

There’d be enough time for crazy hunters and creepy zombie creatures tomorrow. For now, Stiles just turned his head further into Derek’s shoulder, letting his eyes grow heavy like they wanted to. His last thought before he drifted off was that he could get used to ending a day like this.


End file.
